


the ones with hope in them

by toushindai (WallofIllusion)



Category: Baccano!
Genre: Angst, Dream Sequence, Gen, No shame november
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 05:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8477173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallofIllusion/pseuds/toushindai
Summary: The worst dreams Huey has aren’t nightmares; they’re the ones with hope in them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr there was this post about "No Shame November," "where we all post the most self-indulgent fanworks we can muster and then pat each other on the back for it." [[x]](http://toushindai.tumblr.com/post/152611851275/no-shame-november-is-a-go)
> 
> On that note, here's a needlessly angsty fic about Huey dreaming.

The worst dreams he has aren’t nightmares; they’re the ones with hope in them.

He sees her face in a crowd photograph on the cover of the New York Post. His hands shake as he holds the paper, disbelieving and certain all at once. He’s never seen a photograph of her before, but there’s no mistaking her face. For a time, all he can do is drink in the sight of her.

Then it is time to act. He brings the paper to the Daily Days. They can’t tell him where to find her—they don’t know who she is—but in exchange for her name and an amount of money that he does not hesitate to pay, they tell him about the man who took the photograph and the three people standing closest to her. All he needs is their names; from there, he can use Sham and Hilton to track them down.

He has Sham locate Elmer as well, in anticipation.

It’s on his way to talk to the photographer that he first runs into Fermet. A quiet breath, and he is composed; if Fermet is here then it means he is on the right track, and that is even more reason than normal to maintain his composure. His empty smile slides into place. Good.

Fermet smiles, too.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“Figured out what?” he asks politely, without genuine interest in his voice. He’s making conversation. He’s playing the role he assigned himself centuries ago. At least, he’s pretending to. But as Fermet’s smile shifts, about to answer, Huey crooks a finger in signal and Christopher leaps down from the roof of the house next door. Before Fermet can react, Christopher runs his throat through with his gunblade. Fermet doesn’t seem surprised. Huey wipes away a drop of his blood where it sprayed across his face; it is warm on his fingers for a moment, then writhes and returns to its owner. Fermet’s body twitches. Christopher kills him again.

“You’ll need to watch him very closely,” Huey warns the Lamia as they tie up the temporary corpse. “And I’d recommend taking out his tongue and keeping it in a jar.”

“Yes sir,” Christopher answers cheerfully, and returns to singing.

The photographer doesn’t know anything, though. Neither do the first two people he reaches. The third, though—the woman who was standing on Monica’s right—recognizes the photograph and knows her.

“You’re Huey,” the woman says in wonder.

He feels the blood drain from his face. He nods, his throat too tight to speak.

“Then I’ll call her, right now! She’ll want to see you immediately—”

“No,” comes out. The woman is confused. He explains. “We have another friend. He’ll want to see her, too.” He has to keep his promise.

She still seems confused, but she gives him Monica’s address. He commits it to memory and keeps the paper, too. He calls the number that Sham gave him for Elmer and explains.

“What?!” comes his friend’s voice through the phone. “Huey, that’s great!”

“Yes,” he agrees tersely. “I’ll wait for you. Come quickly.”

And he should be excited but it feels too familiar. It feels like _I have to see that play, will you come with me?_ At least this time he can promise a smile in return.

Elmer comes, and his eagerness is obvious. He tones it down for Huey’s sake. Together, they go to the address the woman gave him. It’s an ordinary house. A flower box in the front window. The curtains are drawn, but he can see someone moving behind them, and he may be fooling himself but he thinks the shadow moves the way she used to.

His hand is on the doorbell when he hears Fermet’s voice again.

“You still haven’t figured it out?”

He turns. Fermet is standing behind him, Elmer thrown to the side and pulling a knife out of his gut. Elmer is still smiling, waving his hand to dispel any fear Huey might fear. Surprise still makes Huey dizzy for a moment, but for Fermet, it’s mild.

“Figured out _what_?” he says again.

 Fermet leans in close, his voice tender.

“You’re dreaming, Huey.”

 

And wakefulness pours over him all at once.

His chest tightens as reality aligns itself around him—he is still in his cell—it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, he can calm himself—but he can hardly draw a breath and he can’t draw a breath, he can’t collect himself, emotion is pounding in his skull—

“Daddy?”

He is shaking, he is nearly sobbing; he is already forgetting what it was like to hold a photograph of her but the disappointment, the crushing frustration, it refuses to fade and he can’t think straight.

“Daddy?! What’s wrong?”

He feels his daughter’s hands shaking his arm and slaps them away. There’s a gasp, and he makes himself look at her. “Liza, leave,” he instructs sharply. Her eyes go wide with concern and hurt, but she understands the order; she retreats to the chair and then her body goes as limp as a doll as Hilton obediently turns her consciousness elsewhere.

(Across the nation, women and girls with nothing in common wake in the night, clutching their pillows close with despair as they wail.)

Huey stops biting his lip long enough for it to heal. But that only lets his sobs escape; he cries as he hasn’t cried in years, cries in the way he’s tried to forget. He cries because he’s lost her, he’s lost her, he’s lost her—


End file.
